“No, no, no. Not the stew. She hates the stew.”
He strode past me and disappeared into another room a few doors ahead. I hurried forward, hoping to catch him using his magic so I could figure out what I was dealing with. However, light flared from the opening before I reached it.
Light wasn’t the only thing to invade the hallway. A subtly sweet scent, like cake, lured me closer. My mouth watered, and I railed at myself for missing the opportunity to grab the bread that the glutton had accidentally thrown at me. A single bite would have quieted my stomach for a while. Long enough to resist whatever crazy-man was trying to do.
Sheer will kept me moving past the door.
“Game, game, game. I suffer for her pleasure. I must,” crazy-man said savagely, entering the hall.
Instead of walking past me, he pivoted to stand in front of me. Not knowing what else to do, I abruptly turned and set my forehead against the wall.
His fisted hands swam into focus at the edge of my vision as he stood beside me. The rapid rise and fall of his bare, golden chest didn’t bode well for me, and I tried to breathe normally as he leaned closer.
The scent of subtle spice mixed with a hint of smoke and heat teased my nose. Without meaning to, I inhaled more deeply, trying to put a name to the spice before I caught myself.
“I will be worthy,” he said, his voice low and smooth.
I fought not to shiver at his sudden, deadly determination and waited as he twisted away from me and forcefully opened the next door. Muttering and tormented definitely seemed the safer personality choice.
I lifted my head and looked at the now lit opening. The guy was completely unsteady, which meant I needed to tread carefully. Maybe ignoring what he was doing was the wrong approach. Or the right one if I meant to upset him to the point that he crowded my personal space.
Steadying my resolve to not make him angry, I moved forward and paused at the doorway.
“Please,” he breathed. “Please be worthy.”
Slowly, I turned to face the room and cautiously lifted my gaze just enough to see what he’d done.
A small table and padded stool waited in the center of the torchlit room. A golden plate with a single slice of bread rested on the wooden surface.
Bread. Why did it have to be bread?
My stomach growled hungrily, and my earlier thoughts returned. How much longer could I keep going like this? Endlessly walking. No food, nothing to drink, no rest.
I didn’t want to die.
But which would cause my death? Starving or eating what he offered? Making him angry or making him happy?
I was so tired of the fear and the struggle simply to exist. Why couldn’t things be easy for once in my life?
Crazy-man stood just beyond the table, watching my internal struggle. Or, at least, I figured he was watching. I wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake and look up so another creature could capture my free will.
Knuckles white, his hands remained fisted at his sides, a sure sign he was about to lose his shit if I turned away from the bread.
Hoping I wasn’t walking to my death, I entered the room and sat on the plush stool.
He moaned and fell to his knees, bringing his gaze dangerously level with mine and enabling me to see more of him. Not the details. That would require actually looking at him instead of staring at the bread. No, just enough of a blur to see how his dark hair fell around his head in disarray. It wasn’t long, only longish. And I could see he had defined brows, dark slashes against his lighter skin. Below that, he had eyes rather than glowing empty sockets.
The vague impression of his face had me wondering if he was handsome, too. Probably. The most dangerous ones usually were.
Shifting my interest away from him and the mystery of how he could go from a decaying corpse to a living man, I picked up the bread.
The thick slice was still warm and steaming, and the dense pale interior glistened wetly. I really hoped that meant butter. I took a tentative bite. Whatever was on the bread was one thousand times better than butter. Flavor hit my tongue, and I closed my eyes. If I could have made a sound, I would have groaned. Instead, I chewed slowly and savored it.
“I am unworthy of such praise,” crazy-man whispered.
He made a few incoherent noises as I worked my way through the slice of bread. Each swallow grew more difficult.
“She thirsts. Think. Game, game, game. Choose well.”
